


come here baby, be my lollipop

by audenrain



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Dom!Eliza, F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Wedding Night, sub!Alexander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audenrain/pseuds/audenrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stayed an hour or so with his friends at the public house, but that was all right: it took Eliza that long to feel at all prepared for him to come to her – their – bed. She splashed some cold water on her cheeks and neck, studied her own face in the mirror a little while – there was something in it that she couldn’t recall having seen before. She thought she could see her anticipation as much as feel it, that anxiety trying to crawl up her throat and out her mouth, the excitement building slow in her belly like the rustle of very distant thunder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come here baby, be my lollipop

**Author's Note:**

> the language will be a blend of historical and modern; hopefully that doesn't get too jarring. i can't stand using euphemisms for certain words! i just can't. but i like the old-fashioned style, sometimes.
> 
> title from will.i.am's song "Bang Bang".

The wedding was like something out of a dream. It was not nearly as extravagant as it might have been if not for the revolution, but Eliza didn’t mind: there was more than enough food for everyone, and plenty of wine and champagne, and Alexander had whirled her around the dance floor until she was dizzy with it. He was beautiful tonight, her Alexander – she always thought him handsome, but tonight his skin seemed to glow against the blue and white of his uniform; his face was flushed and beaming; and with every skip and turn of their dance more strands of dark hair slipped out of his ponytail, curling from the damp of his sweat. His eyes, too, shone brighter than she’d seen them before, suspiciously so at times – when her father raised his glass and told them all how it filled him with joy to have gained such a fine young man as a son, she was sure she saw Alexander blink a few too many times.

He stayed an hour or so with his friends at the public house, but that was all right: it took Eliza that long to feel at all prepared for him to come to her – their – bed. She splashed some cold water on her cheeks and neck, studied her own face in the mirror a little while – there was something in it that she couldn’t recall having seen before. She thought she could see her anticipation as much as feel it, that anxiety trying to crawl up her throat and out her mouth, the excitement building slow in her belly like the rustle of very distant thunder.

She did not know if she was supposed to undress herself or wait for him – why hadn’t she asked Angelica? Would he even know the complexities of a lady’s garments?

She brushed away that question as soon as it arose. Of course he would, her Alexander, the tomcat. Try as he might he could not shield her from that gossip: he could probably unlace her stays one-handed and blindfolded. (And wasn’t _that_ an image.) Then again, her clothing might end up a mistreated heap on the floor if she left disrobing to the heat of the moment.

In the end, she undressed down to her shift. She dabbed some fresh perfume on, thinking of how much she had exerted herself dancing. She paced for a while, smoothing down her hair, thinking of all Angelica had told her. _It will likely hurt at first, but no worse than monthly pains unless he’s careless. If you have the time, you can try to stretch yourself with your fingers a little – it will help ease the way._

But it was _strange_ , deeply and unspeakably strange. Eliza had touched herself before, but never found much pleasure in trying to penetrate herself. She expected Alexander would spend himself long before she did, and that her release would be found in her own hands, or perhaps his. She hoped for his. He had beautiful hands, strong and elegant.

So Eliza crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to her waist, sitting back against the headboard. Ordinarily she would read her Bible before retiring, but – well, for obvious reasons, that seemed an incongruous activity for tonight. Instead, she touched a finger to the place just beneath the point of her jaw. Someone leaning in to drop a kiss there might seem only to be kissing her cheek, with the right angle to shield them. Her pulse beat against it, and when Alexander had leaned in after dinner, before the dancing had begun, and pressed his mouth there, a lingering kiss, she’d nearly yelped. There had been so many people around them, and she’d barely bitten down on the sound. When he leaned back – and the air was a little cool on that spot now, because his mouth had been so _hot_ – she wanted to scold him for it, but he had looked so full of mischief and delight.

Her pulse raced a little faster at the memory.

At last she heard the sound of the door, of fading laughter from just beyond it and then of footsteps on the stairs.

“Wife,” was Alexander’s first, breathless word to her, when he stepped inside the room. She looked up from her hands to find him disheveled, jacket discarded, cravat loose around his neck, his hair nearly all escaped from its ribbon.

“Husband,” she said, smiling a little, and his own smile rushed out to meet her, broad and unchecked.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” he says, toeing off his boots, slipping off the cravat, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “The men were insistent I celebrate thoroughly.”

“Celebrate,” she echoed, her smile gaining a sardonic twist. “Ah, yes. The last night of your freedom.”

Alexander put a knee on the bed, and then a hand, leaning in but not yet crossing any boundaries of personal space. He was frowning a little, looking at her so earnestly. “Or the first night of the rest of my life with you.”

Eliza wanted to have the presence of mind to roll her eyes, act as though his ability to pluck honeyed words out of the air like that had _no_ effect on her whatsoever, as though she was perfectly wise to the game. But it would be a blatant lie, and she didn’t, deep down, believe that he was playing a game. “You’ve already won me, my love,” she said, and whatever he saw in her face brought him to climb up onto the bed next to her, reaching out to brush back a strand of her hair. “Or have you spent so long getting by on the skill of your tongue you forget how to turn it off?”

Alexander looked terribly pleased at this, as if she’d said something very clever. “Eliza,” he said, putting a hand on the blankets near her waist, “darling Betsy, you’ll have no complaints about the skill of my tongue by tomorrow morning.”

Her own felt heavy in her mouth: she thought she understood the implication, for there was too much promise in the words for it to sound like he meant only kissing, but she hadn’t exactly expected – but he was slowly drawing back the blankets, and she was lifting her hands to let him. “Is that right?” she said, absolutely for lack of a better response. She could feel the blood rushing south, the urge to press her thighs together – the look he was giving her could been frightening in its intensity if she had not understood its cause.

He laid a kiss on her hip, overtop of her shift, not breaking eye contact. “I promise,” he said, and then smiled again, small but sincere, the intensity melting away for a moment. “You’ll tell me if you aren’t enjoying yourself, of course?”

_It will likely hurt at first._

But Eliza was not generally feeble about pain. “Of course,” she said, and when Alexander began to push the hem of her shift up her legs, she lifted her hips to help. There was no time to be anxious of what he would think – almost as soon as it was over her head and off, he was kissing a meandering path up her leg, and he was sighing into her skin – _Betsy, beautiful Betsy_ – his hands already roaming the bare country of her hips, waist, belly.

“Please,” he said, lifting his face a little, “lie back, it will be better if you lie back—”

“But you’re still dressed,” she said, laughing a little, touching the cuff of his shirtsleeve.

“Oh,” he said, blankly, and then divested himself of the rest of his clothes with a careless impatience. He was lean, wiry, cut with sharp lines of both muscle and bone. He didn’t have the broad shoulders or barrel chest of some of his friends, but that much she had known when he was dressed, too, and she didn’t miss them; he looked like the fighter he was, like a man with no excess, every bit of him worked into strength. And there was his cock – not the first she had seen but certainly the first up close, and the first she had seen _hard_ , and wanting _her_ , and it was certainly larger than one or two of her fingers. Her heart gave a little jerk against her ribs.

“You’re lovely,” she said, unthinking, and then wondered if she ought to amend it – _handsome, striking_ , something a little less delicate – but he was smiling. He did not look offended at all.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to touch her hips, pulling gently. “Lie back, Eliza.”

She did, sliding down the bed until her head rested on the pillows, and he arranged himself between her legs, bent double on his knees. She felt exposed in a way she never could have conceptualized hours ago – they were both laid bare before each other, as she had known they would be, but the _way_ he was looking at her, his breath hot on her very core – it was the same way he used to look after he kissed her goodnight, only now it was across the swells and valleys of her body.

“Alexander,” she said, “I may be a little less experienced than you in these matters—” And here a tiny crease appeared on his brow, but she pressed on. “—but I don’t believe this is how marriages are consummated.”

There was some mischief in his eyes, now, and he dropped a kiss on the inside of her thigh. “Some men never acquaint themselves so well with their wives in a lifetime of marriage,” he said, his tone arch. “More’s the pity.”

Eliza laughed, looking up at the ceiling, shaking her head a little. “Few men have your hunger for life,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, warmth in his voice. “Life.” And then without so much as a warning, he licked a slow, steady line up the seam of her, and she heard herself whimper _,_ a feeble little noise that she knew would have embarrassed her if she could only gather the strength for it. He did it again, and again, and then followed it with a stroke of his thumb, spreading her wetness while the flat of his tongue pressed hard against her clit. She pressed her lips together, still staring up at the ceiling; a part of her wanted to look down, watch him as he licked her, but a larger part was too uncertain, too overwhelmed.

"You taste perfect," he told her, "dark, you taste like desire itself-"

"You are absurd," she huffed, finally looking down so she could hit him with the full force of her frown. But he looked so sincere.

"Well, perhaps," he said, and kept his eyes on hers as he drew his tongue along her once more. She bit her lip. "But you had better get used to that. I am yours, now."

And then she felt a little guilt, and a great deal of love, and she wished she could take the words back. "Come here," she told him, reaching out, "kiss me-"

He did, crawling up her body to kneel over her and kiss her with all the considerable skill of that invaluable tongue, and she could taste herself on it - dark was not a bad word for it at all. Not sweet, not like honey, but something much more suited to the nighttime. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, let his teeth dig in just a little, and when he released her she whispered an apology.

He only shook his head, dropping one last kiss on her lips and then another over her pulse, like he had at dinner. "May I return to my efforts?" he murmured, and the simple fact that he was asking for permission sent a little fork of lightning through her.

"By all means," she said. She could not imagine how he could be so eager, but there was nothing false about the way he scrambled back down, licking into her in the same instant that his hands spread over her thighs and squeezed. She sighed, tilting her hips up on instinct more than anything else, but he liked it - he let out his own sigh and shifted his grip around to the backs of her legs, so he was pulling her up against his mouth. His tongue was pressing against her entrance, not enough to breach but enough to _stretch_ a little, and she pushed up again, encouraging, curious, but then he was moving up, and - and he was pressing so much of his face to her - her face flushed hotter as she realized it was his _nose_ sliding against her clit, and yet the most she could do was quaver out half his name before he was sealing his mouth over her and _sucking_.

“Shameless,” she gasped, when he finally took a brief moment to breathe, and he grinned, his face wet with her.

“I’ve been called much worse things,” he said, and then he was ducking his head down again. This time he pushed the point of his tongue harder into her, and the stretch was still odd, but it was good - no sharp edge of her fingernail, a soft yielding quality to the firm pressure of it that made her squirm up for more - and he didn't linger there too long, not so long that she started to think too hard about it. She couldn't have thought too hard about anything, especially once he reached her apex again and bore down on it with firm flicks of his tongue. It was as though her body was condensing, everything real and present settling between her legs, and everything else a little far off. She clutched at handfuls of the sheets to remind herself she still _had_ hands, and Alexander made a noise of approval that she felt more than she heard. The pressure built, spiking each time he moaned, and he kept _on_ moaning, and she couldn't tell whether it was because he knew how it good it felt for her or because he was as overcome as she, but it didn't matter - he moaned and she echoed him, and they cascaded over one another like that until she had to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle a shriek. It was nothing like the release she'd brought to herself with questing fingers - this time the pleasure was almost sharp, and yet the whole world went fuzzy, and it seemed easier just to shut her eyes than try and focus them.

He gave her a few moments to catch her breath, laying his cheek against her thigh and petting little circles into the curve of her hip. When she finally had the strength to open her eyes and look down at him, he was already looking back up, and there was something in his eyes - complaisance, or - she might have even dared to think he looked docile.

"That was incredible," she told him, and it was genuine, but it was also something of a test, probing his reaction. His face broke out into a smile, and he seemed to be trying to nuzzle her thigh, and the word _docile_ did not seem so much of a stretch, now; when she stroked a hand over his hair, he let out a pleased little hum.

"Yes," he said, his hand still making soothing motions on her skin. "I wanted to do that since the first time we kissed. Perhaps even before, but when I first kissed you, and you blushed so nicely - I wanted to push up your skirts, hold them up against your hips and kiss you here too, and then look up to see how you would blush at _that_."

"Oh," she said, and she could hear the catch in her voice, feel her thighs twitch, because - well, the thought of it - she knew he lusted after her, but she'd never thought his fantasies might be of _this_ , of tasting her instead of penetrating her.

He smiled. "Oh," he agreed, and his hand - the hand that had been resting quietly on her knee - was sliding up along her again, the heel of his palm pressing hard into her clit and making her jerk, startling a yelp out of her.

He backed off. "I'm sorry," he said, raising his head a little, "I - too much?"

She had to think a moment. It felt _good_ , it felt sharp again, but still good - but she hadn't expected there to be any of that left in her to give. And yet.

"No," she admitted. "But aren't you - I thought you would want-"

"I told you," he said. "I've wanted to taste you for _ages_."

Ages, she thought giddily as he moved up the bed, collapsing next to her. They hadn't had such a long courtship at all, but it had seemed like ages, at times.

"Eliza," Alexander said, pulling at her hips. She twisted uncertainly, now on her side, now letting him tug her closer and on top of him, just high up enough on his body that she missed his cock by inches.

"What are you asking for?" Because little touches at the backs of her legs were bending her knees, and she could not fathom what she was doing now kneeling over his chest, especially when he was so hard behind her it looked almost painful.

"You can-" Alexander's hands on her hips kept on pulling, until she had to put a hand on the headboard to steady herself. There was a faint edge of wildness in his eyes, and it went against everything her elders had tried to tell her about men and women, but she looked down at him and she _knew_.

"No," she said, injecting as much steel in her voice as she could despite the way her heart was stuttering and her breath felt too short. "I think the wording you want is 'will you please'."

She was certain, this time, that his groan had nothing to do with her pleasure and everything to do with his own. His hands fell away from her and he tilted his chin up, straining for her, and yes, she had been right, because the look in his eyes was much calmer now, almost like relief.

"Eliza," he said, "will you please-" And he stumbled with his wording here, a thing she couldn't remember having seen before. Was he worried what she would think? "Will you please press yourself against my face?"

She cocked her head, the hand not on the headboard dropping to brush the hair off his forehead. "For what purpose?"

His brow knit a little, not confusion, she thought, but rather imploring. "For your pleasure," he said. "Will you - please - use me for your pleasure?"

Eliza let out a long, soft _oh_ as she sank down against his mouth, not only for how wonderful it felt against her but also because he sounded so _lovely_ , so adoring and so desperate for her, and she was almost dizzy with how much she wanted him. He had almost no leverage to set the pace like this - he tried, once or twice, raising his head from the pillow, but she pressed against his forehead and said _no_ , in a voice so stern she felt his whole body shudder between her knees.

"If you need me to move away," she said, "you can touch me with your hands. Otherwise you stay still. I thought you asked to be _used._ "

He made a cracked, hungry sound that she thought had the shape of a _yes_ , muffled against her. His hands didn't move.

She ground down against his face - at first only rocking her hips, gently, afraid for his breathing, but he was panting easily through his nose, his tongue flexing against whatever part of herself she pressed there, and after a little while she began to push a little harder. He was keening on his exhales, only getting louder as she picked up a driving pace.

"Oh, Alexander," she sighed, hardly managing to keep her eyes on him and yet hardly daring to blink. His face was flushed, his eyes shining but fixed on her, alert, pupils blown wide. "You're so good-"

His eyelids fluttered on his next whine, so she said it again. "So good, and you want to be  _mine_ -"

Another whine, higher in pitch and volume, and his eyes were entirely closed, now, and when she tilted her hips he seemed to anticipate before she even told him - "Suck," she said, and he already was, with her clit pressing against the flat front of his teeth, his tongue shielding her from the sharper edge. It was almost too good, almost painful, but she kept riding harder and harder, knowing she was hardly holding up her weight at all anymore and fearing the tremor in her thighs, and he could do almost nothing except let her move against him. She could feel the pressure mounting in her again, building up from her core to her pounding heart and into her throat, letting loose a string of praise that sounded nonsensical to her ears but made him moan against her. She came a second time like that, bearing down on him so hard that she would have worried about suffocation if she couldn't feel the ragged heat of his breath against her skin.

Only then did he touch her, gently helping her lift herself off him - and she was exhausted, she couldn't believe the soreness in her limbs - and settling her next to him, aftershocks still quaking through her. When she could finally look at him properly she couldn't hold back the noise she made - he looked wrecked, with his mouth red and swollen, his cheeks pink, his hair all in disarray, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath - and he was still hard, his cock leaking against his stomach.

"What would you like me to do for you?" she asked, reaching out - she only touched his chest, just to feel his heart, but he made a thin, helpless sound at the contact.

"Just," he said, swallowing hard. "If you just touch me-"

She wrapped a hand around him, tentative, tightening her grip a little when he gave a weak buck of his hips, and she was just thinking that it would be nice to get an idea of how to touch him, gauge what worked on an anatomy so different from her own, when on her third stroke he let out a crackling _Elizaaa-_ and he pulsed and spilled into her hand.  _Well_.

She scrubbed her hand over the sheet at the edge of the bed and then pressed herself up against his side, wrapped an arm around his ribs. There was a bit of a mess on his stomach, too, but God, his face was worse, still shining nearly all over. She leaned up and kissed him, and for all that he was still struggling to breathe right he surged up into her and sank a hand into her hair. It was  _strange_ , kissing his mouth when it was so slick and oh, tasted so strongly of her. Her own face had to be something of a mess when they separated, but he was looked at her as starry-eyed as he had that first night at the ball.

"You like being used," she dared to say, and he blinked once so slowly that he seemed to have to force his eyes open again.

"I like pleasing you," he said, which was neither admission nor denial. But she wasn't about to push just now.

"Evidently," she replied instead, drawing a finger across the drops of seed that had hit his stomach. He laughed, drawing a forearm across his face.

"Well," he said, as she settled back down with her ear on his chest, his voice rumbling against her, "we are married now. What have we to hide from each other?"

She smiled, mustering up just enough energy to wrap a leg around him, ignoring the sweet little shiver she felt at the touch of his hip to where she still ached. They had plenty of time. "Nothing at all," she agreed, and listened to the sound of her new husband's heart, slowly, steadily settling.

**Author's Note:**

> come see me on tumblr as [promache](http://promache.tumblr.com)!


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